


i open my eyes and i see you there

by rubycrowned



Series: And Through Your Eyes (I See The One I Wish I Was) [5]
Category: 1D - Fandom, One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, I suppose, M/M, Smut, Uni AU, again kind of, lots of smut smack bam in the middle of this, ziam, ~kinda readable as a oneshot if you want that~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 11:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubycrowned/pseuds/rubycrowned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>things are kinda off when liam and harry get back to uni, liam and zayn are there for each other, louis still can't cook and niall is probably off at the zoo by himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i open my eyes and i see you there

**Author's Note:**

> liam's chap of eyes series :))
> 
> there's a definite dose of angst again this chap but everything stays pretty fluffy on the whole. and by fluffy i mean i somehow wrote a 4k sex scene. i-
> 
> thanks to my babes who have helped me on this (and other chaps - i'm sorry i forget all the time to actually give you the attention you deserve), especially madi for helping w/ editing. and HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAISY, HOPE YOU ENJOY THE ZIAM xo

It’s a new semester.

A new semester and Liam’s just trying to focus on that.

On the work he needs to do and the marks he needs to get and everything which _should_ be important right now.

And not on the boy who slides into the empty seat next to him at 8am on the first day back for HIST206: English Civil War and passes Liam a cardboard cup of coffee which scalds his throat as he swallows, but seems to lift his eyelids a fraction of an inch. Or the brightness of the grin which almost makes getting up this early worth it.

“Morning, Li.”

“Hey, Zayn.”

Definitely shouldn’t focus on the twitching in his stomach.

“Good break?”

Liam points down at the lecturer huffing impatiently at the front of the room and is grateful for the interruption. “Shh, he’s trying to start.”

Zayn only rolls his eyes and reaches over to nick one of Liam’s pens, laid out on the small desk in the hopes it might inspire him to actually use them. His hand brushes Liam’s slightly as he withdraws with his prize and Liam stares steadfastly at the man introducing himself with a mic that is definitely not switched on.

Focus.

Zayn snorts as the lecturer blames it on the battery and tries switching it out for the spare mic on the desk – which is also switched off.

Work. Study.

Liam feels himself be tapped on the back of his hand with his own pen. He glances at Zayn, who nods down at his own open exercise book.

_Wake me when it’s over? I’ll shout brunch…_

Liam maybe wants to be distracted.

***

Surprisingly, it’s easier than Liam had thought to get back into things. To actually focus on his work harder than he’s done, well, _ever_ really. He’s always been one to procrastinate, to only pay attention when necessary because who _really_ likes homework anyway? It’s probably the reason for a lot of his troubles, if he’s honest with himself.

But a month into semester and he’s actually stuck to it for once.

Possibly because it’s better than the alternative.

Because it’s easier to go to the library, or hole himself up in his room, or to accept Zayn’s invite to study (although the last instance potentially isn’t as productive as the others), than it is to sit around the flat.

To watch the way that Harry’s caved in on himself since they came back from holiday. That he’s quieter and smiles less and doesn’t even put up a fight if Zayn steals his favourite seat or Niall swipes the last of the biscuits. That Louis conspicuously stops coming over, when before it was as though him and Zayn almost lived in Liam’s flat.

It’s the longest Harry’s gone without talking to Liam about his problems in over fifteen years, and it itches under Liam’s skin like a disease; or a scratchy tag on a shirt that you can’t quite get to sit properly.

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, because Harry has _always_ come to Liam in the end, but he _hasn’t_. And Liam isn’t sure if the time to do something has passed him by, if it’s too late, too weird or too awkward to bring it up now, especially when the cause is staring them quite blatantly in the eye – if only by its absence.

His absence.

Maybe if he’d said something that night Harry had come to his room back in Wolverhampton, drowned in the duvet that had covered Harry’s bed since he was thirteen and decided he was too old for Star Wars (Liam caved for his fifteenth birthday later that year and finally gave up his own Buzz Lightyear one; swapped for an appropriately dark and mature Batman Begins cover). He’d looked so young, and small – gangly limbs that he was finally beginning to grow into hidden under blanket to leave only a round cheeked and saddened face peering back at him. Liam thinks if he’d asked then – actually, knowing Harry, he probably wouldn’t have said anything then either.

But going back to uni, and in the days following, with both of them holed up in the flat in their own little worlds, two hermits with barely coinciding orbits; that was when Liam could have, should have, tried to talk to Harry. To find out what on earth happened while Liam was- while he was away over New Year’s. Because this isn’t the Harry Liam knows, and he’s not sure if he likes it; if only because this Harry breaks his heart a little every time he sees him.

Zayn tells Liam that Louis’ not a whole lot better; that he hides it behind a façade of smiles and bravado, but that Zayn has never seen Louis so strained, so fragile and brittle and stretched thin over a too-sharp laugh.

Zayn’s fingers tap out a staccato rhythm as he talks about his friend, shadows drawn over his face and shoulders hunched in sympathetic pain. Liam knows what it is to feel physical pain for another, and he wants to reach out for Zayn, to tell him it’s not their fault they have best mates who are fools, both independently and over each other, to tell him that it will all work out in the end.

Except Liam’s not that brave.

There’s a voice in the back of his mind which tries to bring up the memories of the night that he _was_ brave; but Liam knows that was more liquid courage than any actual strength of will, any proper show of character which, in the light of day, Liam would cower away from.

They struggle on.

***

Liam’s pretty sure that, at one point, mid-semester break was intended for rest and relaxation.

Not this semester, at any rate.

There had been semi-concrete plans that he’d go home for the week with Harry, and Liam had planned to take advantage of the hours stuck within the confines of the car to _finally_ talk things through with him (or knock some sense _into_ him, as seemed more likely at this stage; what with Harry and Louis still awkward and very much not together).

But then mid-terms began.

Both his economics and marketing papers had heftily-weighted tests before the break. And Liam had gone in feeling fairly confident with them, considering the extra time he’d spent going to the library and feeling productive this term.

And the latter, Liam thinks, did go pretty okay. He’s not worried about that.

It was the econ paper which has him scared. He was so sure he understood the concepts going into the exam. And yet it completely fucked him over. The test was thirty percent of his final grade and Liam’s not sure he’ll even scrape a C for it. And maybe that might have a little to do with the fact that going to the library and actually _studying_ are perhaps two very different things.

But now he’s proper worried.

His accounting mid-term isn’t until the first Wednesday back, and Liam had _intended_ to spend the couple days beforehand giving his notes a brief look over, but that didn’t seem like it would cut it anymore.

Which is how he winds up, on the Thursday of mid-semester break, in Zayn’s room, with his accounting textbook open in his lap for the first time in three years – ever since he bought it during his very first week of university.

Well, _technically_ he’s there because they also have an assignment due Monday for history. Liam’s quite fond of their lecturer now – he’s quite entertaining once he spends an inevitable fifteen minutes trying to sort out the technology required at the start of each lecture – but Liam’s not sure if he actually realises that he’s teaching history and not literature; their thirty-five percent assessment is a piece of creative writing based around a soldier fighting in the English Civil War. Not that Liam’s complaining; he’s about as mediocre at writing fiction as he is at writing essays, but at least he has Zayn to edit and critique it, BA nerd that he is. Which is what he’s doing with Liam’s laptop perched on his crossed legs, back resting against the wall behind his bed. Liam can see just enough of his screen to see an awful lot of red. But he turns his attention back to his textbook; the history assignment will turn out fine with Zayn’s help, and its mark is really neither here nor there at this point.

And it’s _really_ not going to help Liam get a B in accounting if he’s too busy watching the way Zayn’s eyelashes appear to fan over his cheeks beneath his oversized glasses as he looks down at the computer screen.

Right. Accounting.

They sit in near silence for another half hour or so, just the sound of the occasional page turning and fingers tapping at the keyboard.

Liam’s starting to doubt that finding out just how much he _doesn’t_ know is really that useful when-

“You’re rocking the whole bed with the way you’re bouncing your leg. Breathe will you, Li?” Zayn doesn’t even look up from the laptop when he says it, but it’s not unkind. Liam blushes, just a little, consciously resting his leg back down against the mattress.

“Sorry.”

Zayn does look up this time, and his expression’s soft.

“You’re going to do fine, Liam. And it’s only one grade; it’s not the end of the world either way.”

Liam can’t help his face twisting into some sort of grimace, and this isn’t something he likes to talk about, but the words fall from his lips unbidden.

“It’s a compulsory paper. If I fail I can’t graduate.”

Zayn must hear the fear behind those words, as he gently moves the laptop from his knees to the small bedside table next to him, removing his glasses to sit on top of the closed lid.

“Oh, Li,” and there’s affectionate concern lacing Zayn’s features; Liam wishes he could smooth it all away, but it feels so nice to hear that someone _cares_. “Surely it can’t be as bad as all that?”

“I- it’s not like I’ve ever been top of the class or anything. But I’ve never felt like I’m this close to losing out.”

“But you always seem so onto it; you’re always at the lib when I text you lately,” Zayn’s face is creased in confusion, with that edge of worry, and he creeps closer on the bed to where Liam’s sat.

It’s embarrassing, really, but it’s also Zayn. And Liam’s under no misconceptions as to his ability to keep _anything_ from Zayn. With just a couple of exceptions.

“I guess…I’ll go, but whenever any of it gets overwhelming, because there’s so much I don’t know, or there’s a deadline I don’t know if I can make or, well, _anything._ I just. It’s like if I don’t think about it, if I do something else, then it will just go away?”

Liam can _feel_ Zayn about to speak, but he rushes on.

“I know it’s dumb, even for me. But it’s what I’ve always done, ever since school, and it’s never seemed to cause too much trouble. But now I’m screwing up and I don’t know if I can fix it in time. And I know that, theoretically, I can repeat the paper next year. But,” Liam looks Zayn in the eye for the first time since he started speaking, fights past the sympathy tinged by concern and something else Liam doesn’t know how to interpret. He doesn’t want Zayn to feel sorry for him, to think him any less than perfect, but he knows he’s shot that to hell and back already, and maybe Liam never knew how good it can feel to just let it out for once.

“But how can I do that? It’d be bad enough if it was just me to consider; just me having to come back next year and resit. But it’s not. It’s my family; no one else has ever gone to uni, Mum and Dad have scrimped and saved my whole life to help me out with paying for it, so that I can make something of myself. What if,” Liam hadn’t realised just how stressed everything has made him until he started speaking it allowed, and he’s struggling to get the air into his lungs, just thinking about everyone he’s letting down, “what if I have to tell them I’m not graduating in the summer? What if I have to disappoint them? And what if I finally graduate and then I have to tell them that no one wants to hire the BCom that barely passed their degree?”

His breath is hitching, and his textbook fell to the ground some time ago, and Liam’s wondering whether this is what a panic attack feels like.

And then.

Zayn’s there.

While Liam had been speaking, Zayn had edged steadily closer, enough that Liam could feel Zayn’s warmth radiating and igniting this growing heat in Liam’s belly which left him conflicted, added turmoil upon that which broke through in his words. Zayn had sat pressed next to his side, eyes for once breaking their careful blankness and melting to depths of warm emotion which makes Liam’s own eyes begin to fill.

But now something shifts in Zayn’s eyes, his hand sliding up from Liam’s shoulder to cup his neck, and he’s moving closer. He kisses Liam on the cheek, soft, sweet; the antithesis of the memories of that time, months ago; the images that Liam jacks off to late at night; which flashed into his mind unbidden to push him over the edge during the time when he _should_ have been lost in the eyes of…

“You can do this, Liam. I believe in you.”

He kisses Liam’s other cheek, gentle as the first, nose drifting, tickling along Liam’s cheekbone.

“I just feel awful, because my family they…and the money…and…”

It’s hard to concentrate when Zayn is nipping lightly along his jaw, followed by the slick warmth of his tongue brushing over the marks, dragging slightly on stubble Liam had forgotten to shave off this morning.

“Let me help you, Liam,” he aims a kiss just to the side of Liam’s mouth, barely falling onto the corner of his lips. Liam fights the urge to turn into them.

“Let me make you feel good, Li.”

He presses the briefest, most delicate of kisses to Liam’s mouth, finally catching him square on the lips, then pulls back, eyes questioning.

Giving him an out.

And there’s still a part of Liam’s mind chanting _nodon’tcan’t_ , but it’s overpowered by the screaming _please_ coursing through him, that had made his eyelids flutter under the attention of Zayn’s lips; which had made Liam lean forward to chase Zayn’s lips as he’d pulled away.

Zayn’s hand is still at his neck, thumb stroking soothing below his jaw, over his stuttering pulse. So similar and so different to that night at Ed’s. Because that had been Liam, worked up and upset, then and now; and Zayn had been there, then and now. Because it had been out of the blue and Liam had never really expected it, wanted to fight against the mould he’d so carefully constructed for himself, and now he just wanted to let himself fall into this new one. This new one which isn’t really new at all, because this isn’t some stranger at a party anymore, with a leather jacket and a dangerous glint to his red-tinged eyes. This is someone who is one of his best mates; who only appears mysterious because he’s shy, and doesn’t see the point in bothering with people who don’t intrigue him; who is smarter and more passionate than he ever lets on; who believes in Liam no matter who that person turns out to be.

This is Zayn.

Liam nods.

He’s already leaning forward again, lips craving renewed contact, as Zayn scoots almost into Liam’s lap and brings his hand to tangle in Liam’s hair.

The kiss is still sweet, but there’s a purpose behind it now, an underlying current which has Liam sighing a quiet _Zayn_ as the other boy licks over the seam of his mouth and Liam parts his lips.

Hot breath is chased by warm tongue and Liam has to wonder if this is what safety tastes like. Like the sweet cloy of chocolate which Zayn always keeps stashed in the bottom drawer of his dresser and the lightest taste of mint from his toothpaste. Like the lingering sting of cigarette smoke which tickles the back of Liam's throat (and he's confident he could probably pick out the scent of a Pall Mall rollie at fifty paces at this point). And the niggling hint of something sharp and unnamed which Liam only knows as _Zayn_.

It's as though time is suspended, the world shrinking to the flat, this room, until all that exists is Zayn and Liam and the bed beneath them. There are still the odd nagging thoughts which catch on unsuspecting corners of Liam's mind, but he can feel them losing their grip, fading as Zayn leaves indents with his thumbs as he presses into Liam's hipbones, stroking the narrow width of exposed skin between Liam's boxers and shirt.

Zayn is anything but insistent; he waits, refusing to slide his hands further beneath Liam's shirt until Liam is whining low into Zayn's lips, and already pulsing his hips up irregularly when Zayn tugs lightly on Liam's lower lip with his teeth. He's almost oblivious to his own needs, seemingly unfazed when Liam's movement causes his thigh to rub against Zayn's half hard cock through layers of denim and cotton, if it isn't for the slight hum of arousal which reverberates against Liam's lips and under the hand which is clutching Zayn closer, ever closer.

Liam's lost track of how long it's been that he's spent trying to keep Zayn at a distance, never pushing him away but unable to let him breach the wall of friendship which he so carefully constructed when he realised this was all far too complicated for him to handle, yet unwilling to let it go completely, now that he found him. He's lost track of how long it's been that he's been searching for any hint that Zayn might have been doing the same.

And now; now the wall is broken and Liam doesn't know if it's beyond repair. He isn't sure if their friendship will now be wrecked and have no use but to cut their losses and be sold as scrap for other people to reuse and try their hand with. Or if maybe it can be recycled into something new and interesting, with charm and character that only a little experience and history can bring to the table.

But, either way, the worst of the damage is already done, the initial impact made, and Zayn is on and around and _right here_ against Liam. And Liam's not willing to give him up again. Not yet.

Zayn seems determined to go unbearably slow, however; his fingers slot between Liam's ribs like they’re spaces meant just for him, while his thumb rubs circles into his skin, teasingly close to Liam's nipples. Zayn's mouth had trailed away from Liam's along with Liam's thoughts, and he seemed to be tracing the outline of skin available to him, too limited, in Liam's opinion, by the fact that they are both still fully clothed.

His head lifts up to meet the open mouthed kisses which litter his jawline, soft and warm and with barely a hint of teeth. Zayn's tongue darts out to curl around the shell of Liam's air and he shivers as Zayn whispers breathily, "You feeling good yet, Li?", his voice betraying the affect this is happening on him as much as Liam. He nips at and tugs on Liam's earlobe, before latching his lips onto the sensitive patch of skin behind it, and this time he bites down hard enough that Liam can _feel_ the mark blooming, throbbing under the suction of Zayn's touch. He likes the knowledge that this, if nothing else, will still be available as evidence of this afternoon in the coming days. He wonders if that is the intent.

Liam's hands roam beneath Zayn's worn and stretched out tee, as Zayn's lips continue their path down the line of Liam's neck, arched in invitation.

He runs his fingers over the knobs of Zayn's spine, feels the tightness of wiry muscles just beneath the surface. Zayn looks small, almost frail some days; fragile and breakable. But Liam knows he's one of the strongest people he knows, body and mind. Maybe, in a fight, Liam would have more sheer force of muscle, but Zayn is tough, and if it was something he thought was worth it, he'd be scrappy and downright dirty to win.

Liam might not know all of Zayn's secrets ( _knows_ there are some which seem perpetually on the tip of their tongues, yet never said aloud), but he knows that, when Zayn is convinced of something to be true, when he has _faith_ in something, he is unshakeable in his belief.

And, under the ministrations of Zayn's hands and mouth and _god_ , it feels a little like Zayn has faith in _Liam_.

When he digs his teeth into the line of Liam's collarbone, Liam can't help but keen. His hands slip to cup Zayn's arse at the same moment that his own hips buck up out of instinct, and he can only choke out a "Zayn, _please_ ", so fraught with built-up tension and desire, and craving anything to feel some relief, that the sudden friction of Zayn's erection against his own is maddening, still separated by too many layers of clothes.

But Zayn finally seems to get the hint when Liam starts tugging at his shirt with no small amount of insistence, or maybe it's that this is the sign of encouragement Zayn was looking for to continue, as he licks into the hollow between Liam's collarbones only briefly before he leans back, sitting up to rest his weight on Liam's hips, arse not quite grinding down onto Liam's trapped hard-on.

Zayn disentangles Liam's hands from his shirt, lifting them to press a kiss to each palm before resting them, gently but firmly, against the pillows either side of Liam's head. He gives Liam a pointed look, and Liam isn't sure he likes the idea of not being allowed to touch Zayn now that he's been given the opportunity, but he jerks his head in submission to the unspoken command.

Satisfied, Zayn pulls off his own shirt in one fluid motion, although Liam is certain that it shouldn't need to be done so slowly. Not that Liam's really complaining; he drags his gaze over the smooth expanse of skin being exposed, all tanned and tightly coiled hints of muscle. Zayn isn't so defined as to have a six-pack, but he has half a dozen tattoos which are scattered across his torso which are far more interesting to look at, in Liam's opinion, not all of which he recognises from previous experience, and he has to resist the urge to knock Zayn over right now, to trace them with fingers and tongue.

But Zayn moves before Liam can focus his thoughts enough to put them into action, shimmying down the bed to nose at the waistband of Liam's boxers. Liam's dick twitches painfully against the constrictive denim of his jeans, yet Zayn decides to move his way upwards instead of down. He pushes at the soft cotton of Liam's top, lifting it slowly as he attentively courses his way up Liam's torso. At this stage, almost every touch is making low moans leak through Liam's lips, hopelessly turned on and unable to think about anything but the points of contact between him and Zayn, and the craving to close the vicinity between their crotches.

After Zayn swipes a flat tongue over Liam's left nipple - hand resting just below, where Liam's _sure_ Zayn can feel the thud of his heart pounding against it - he finally tugs properly at Liam's hiked up shirt, letting Liam help him to remove it completely. He also takes the opportunity to rub a thumb over the inked skin on Zayn's hip, the shape of a heart bled permanently into Zayn's skin, while Zayn reaches across Liam to fumble in his bedside dresser.

He's back and staring down at Liam as though he can see to the very centre of him (Liam's heart as obvious and indelible as the one Liam's hand was just on) before Liam's fingers can fumble with the knot holding his sweats up. Zayn smirks just a little as he pulls Liam's hands away once more and this time clasps them together above his head on the pillow.

The fact that Zayn then drops his own hands to ever-so-briefly palm at the bulge in his own trousers before tugging at Liam's belt and popping the button of his jeans is the only thing that keeps Liam from complaining, because his mouth is suddenly too dry to form words when Zayn's fingertips _just_ catch on the head of his cock as they drag his trousers and pants down and off. He's not sure if the sensation of freedom as his cock finally bounces up unconfined or the chill of the air against the wet tip is more acute, but neither is as overwhelming as when Zayn places a warm, firm hand around the base and presses a kiss which is almost a caress to the flushed crown, smearing precome over his lips.

Zayn is down to only his pants, tight-fitting grey briefs which highlight the growing dark patch near the waistband. Liam's hips pulse slightly at the sight, impatient for the rest, and when Zayn licks a broad stripe from his balls to the tip, he has to fight the urge to thrust them further, remembering how this part goes. The wet heat of Zayn's mouth engulfing his length. He's so close already from Zayn's incessant build-up that Liam's not sure he'll even make it to feeling his dick hit the back of Zayn's throat.

Zayn doesn't do as he expects, however; he's barely sucking around Liam's head, just enough pressure that it's infuriating, when a contrastingly cold and slick finger rubs a careful finger around his hole. This time Liam can't even _attempt_ to stop himself bucking up into Zayn's mouth, and he doesn't know whether it's more out of shock or surprised pleasure.

Zayn is already pulling off when Liam thrusts upwards, so maybe he expected such a reaction, but his index finger is still pressed insistently at the rim of contracted muscle, massaging it as he looks up at Liam, as if asking permission.

"Do you trust me, Liam?"

And even if the answer had ever been anything but a resounding affirmative, the way that Liam's name rolls off Zayn's tongue, all affection and familiarity in the way Zayn drags it into a soft _Lee-yum_ , and the way that the question still seems hesitant and uncertain, even as they stare at each other with pupil-blown eyes and Zayn's voice sounds hoarse and debauched by sex when they have barely done a thing, well. Liam's only human.

"Ye-yeah," he manages to stutter out, eyelids fluttering a little when Zayn’s fingers increase in pressure, both around his cock and at his hole, at Liam's agreement.

Zayn mouths a kiss to the inside of Liam's thigh and looks up at him, something lighting his eyes in a way Liam thinks could light the world, or at the very least, set Liam’s soul on fire.

"Promised I'd make you feel good, babe. This will; you just gotta relax for me," Zayn tells him, scattering feather-light kisses up and down the length of Liam's shaft in a way that has him melting into the mattress, loosening his muscles just enough so that, when Zayn pushes his lube-slick finger into Liam, it meets only minimal resistance.

It's a second point of focus for Liam besides the heat of Zayn's mouth, which has resumed a more familiar pattern of bobbing on Liam's cock, bringing him back to the edge with a practiced hand acting in synchronicity around the base.

The feel of Zayn inside him isn't uncomfortable, but it's not exactly what Liam would call pleasurable. It's a little weird, if he's honest, if only because of the unfamiliarity, but it's not enough that he'd stop Zayn from doing whatever thrusting motion it is he's doing with his finger. And it's a complex sensation, but as Zayn works himself further into him, it does seem to add a depth to that which Zayn lipshandtongue is causing to make his balls tighten and his cock leak into Zayn's mouth.

He's known he's not going to last long since Zayn first touched him after what seemed like hours of teasing. But, when Zayn pulls almost all the way off, tongue curling to lick into his slit, and the finger inside Liam twists slightly, flexing and hitting _something_ , Liam's orgasm almost blindsides him. He doesn't have a chance to warn Zayn, and while come mostly pulses into Zayn's mouth, some drips down his chin as another spurt stripes his cheek.

Liam had, somehow, managed to keep his hands clasped, white-knuckled, behind his head the entire time; but now he throws one arm across his face, embarrassed. It's one thing to come a bit early, it's entirely another to come all over your partner's face when they haven't even got their pants off.

A slightly sticky hand is nudging Liam's arm away though, and he just catches the sight of Zayn swiping a thumb over the mess on his chin and sucking it into his mouth before he removes it and covers Liam's lips with his own.

This time, there's something else, another tang to go along with the taste of Zayn in his mouth, and it's surprisingly hot when Liam realises that it's _himself_ he can taste on Zayn's tongue; that he can _feel_ how aroused Zayn still is after and maybe because of having Liam come down his throat and make a mess of his pretty face.

Still. It also serves as a reminder that Liam has left Zayn high and dry and should probably be making some sort of attempt to fix that.

"'M sorry," he mumbles against Zayn's lips, removing his hand from where it's knotted in Zayn's hair and reaching instead to palm what must be his painfully hard cock through his pants.

Zayn bats away his attempts to slide his hands inside his underwear, and somehow manages to smirk as he kisses the apology off Liam's face.

"Don't ever apologise, Li. Besides," and Zayn rolls his hips very deliberately into Liam's, forcing a groan from Liam when he rocks against his oversensitive cock, which twitches weakly and sending shoots of not-quite-pleasure, not-quite-pain through his gut, "I'm not _nearly_ done with you yet."

And Zayn swallows Liam's answering moan with renewed fervour as their lips rejoin, still _caring_ but not so much _careful_ , and Liam returns with what force he can, still blissed out enough that he can't quite match Zayn's energy, but his lips automatically chase Zayn's when he leans back for what seems like the hundredth time.

"Just let me know if it's too much okay?" Zayn tells him seriously, and Liam's about to ask what on earth he means by that, but then Zayn is sucking a fresh mark on the column of his neck, right about where Liam thinks his birthmark is, and demanding an explanation doesn't seem so important anymore; he's quite happy to just let Zayn do whatever it is he's doing.

Until suddenly there's slick pressure back at Liam's already sensitive hole, and Liam's whole body arches off the mattress as Zayn pushes in what must be two fingers this time, curling to make Liam whine in a way that even he isn't sure whether is in complaint or encouragement.

"You 'kay, babe?" Zayn murmurs into his skin, his own voice raw and hitching, "You feel so fucking tight."

"Mm," Liam is really not particularly coherent right now, but it comes out sounding like an affirmation. And, if the way his dick is twitching valiantly is anything to go by, it probably is. The way that Zayn begins to finger fuck him, fingers thrusting and steadily stretching Liam, has him reaching for Zayn's neck, slotting their lips together in a tangled rhythm while his fattening cock rubs along Zayn's own hard length (and when did Zayn finally lose his pants? Liam doesn't even know anymore).

"Another," he all but begs into Zayn's mouth when it gets to the point where Liam is trying to bear down on Zayn's fingers, to rock his hips back and gain as much of this _fullness_ (he doesn't know how else to describe it) as he possibly can.

Zayn chuckles, just a little, but Liam knows there's nothing behind it when his fingers leave Liam empty for a moment, only to return with a third, as requested. And this time it's not as comfortable, it burns as Zayn works his fingers in, the stretch significantly more than before. But it's so worth it as Liam relaxes, as his muscles stretch and give and the pleasure grows to overtake the pain, and his cock is leaking once more where it's trapped between their stomachs.

Liam's not the only one making noises now; Zayn is grinding down into Liam's thigh in rough time with his fingers, and Liam has no idea how he's still holding on. Apparently it's a close thing, though, because it's not long now before Zayn's whispering hot into Liam's ear, a desperate plea of, "Can't wait any longer; I need to be in you, Liam, wanna feel you."

It's instinctual, the way Liam's muscles clench down around Zayn's fingers in response, the thought of just that, once imagined in full technicolour, becoming so wanted, so necessary, that he can only mutter a chant of _yesyespleaseyes_.

Zayn withdraws his fingers, and Liam determinedly doesn't make an injured noise of loss, but then there's the distinct sound over their heavy breaths of a packet being torn open and the wet slick of lube being spread down the length of Zayn's cock. And then there's a dull press sliding down to Liam's hole as Zayn lines himself up, before he's rocking ever so slowly into him.

Liam hisses out a breath, because this is more than Zayn's fingers; thicker and _harder_ , and just generally more encompassing and overwhelming. He tries to remind himself to relax, knowing Zayn would never do this to him if it wasn't going to be worth it. He tucks away the thought that even if it does hurt, it already _is_ worth it, for another time.

Zayn folds Liam's legs over his arms, allowing them to fall further apart and grant Zayn access to push the last of the way in a relatively smooth motion, balls slapping softly against Liam's arse, and he's never felt so full and so thoroughly surrounded at the same time.

Everything is Zayn.

Everything is simultaneously blurred - Liam unable to pinpoint the place where Zayn ends and he begins - and brought into sharp relief - the shadows falling across Zayn's chest, the exact shade of his eyes, barely visible when the iris is so overcome by pupil.

And everything is too much and not nearly enough, and Liam really, _really_ needs Zayn to _move_. He tries to hitch his hips up, closer, anything, but it's hard with the way Zayn's holding him to gain any purchase for leverage.

" _Zayn_ ," he does beg this time, and Zayn seems about as able to refuse Liam as Liam can him, since he pauses barely a moment before slowly dragging out and then slamming back into him.

It's no longer gentle, or careful, but it's hardly violent; Zayn hammers each thrust with a determination set in the creases of his forehead and the pants of his breath, and it's steady and deep and without pause. Every time Zayn drives into him, Liam gets shunted against the pillows and his cock slaps against his abdomen, crown shiny and swollen.

The familiar coil low in Liam's belly is building again, and with a groan, he takes himself in hand, jerking himself quickly, trying to keep rhythm with Zayn's thrusts, which he isn't quite managing to meet with his hips.

Liam wriggles slightly, sliding his body further down the bed so he's not forced up against the wall, and it changes the angle just enough that the same jolt of pleasure that had pushed him over the edge earlier courses through him once more. He's determined to hold off this time though, squeezing himself firmly to stave off the inevitable. It helps that Zayn's own thrusts are starting to become erratic, and Liam can't think of anything he wants more right now than to see Zayn lose it.

"C'mon, Zayn; come for me," Liam rambles, certain he sounds all kinds of awkward, but encouraged by the groans Zayn makes at his words, "Want you to come in me; you've made me feel so good, I feel fucking amazing-"

He's cut off by the gutteral moan which echoes around the room as Zayn jerks his hips without pattern or grace to bury himself deep inside Liam, releasing his hold on Liam's legs and slumping forward as he does so.

Seeing the total loss of control in Zayn's face, the defeated fall of Zayn's flat and sweaty hair over his forehead, the feel of twitching muscles which seem to wrack Zayn's body, all because of Liam; it only takes a few more deft pumps of his fist for Liam to wring out his second orgasm, come pulsing weakly to coat his fingers and stomach.

Zayn, after recovering for a moment, strokes Liam's hip comfortingly as he pulls out, and for the first time Liam gets an inkling of how raw and sore he's going to be later on.

But none of it seems to matter when Zayn is cleaning him up with his discarded shirt, and is tugging the duvet up around them, curling up against Liam and resting his head in the crook of Liam's shoulder, sighing deeply as though it's the most comfortable pillow in the world.

There are thoughts, big and dark and probably important, swirling around the corners of Liam's mind. And Liam thinks that at least some of them should probably still be addressed sooner rather than later.

But for now, Liam's exhausted, and he'd much rather take a nap and be embraced by what he believes to be the most comfortable human blanket in the world.

***

It's dark when Liam wakes up, disoriented; the only light coming from the streetlamps outside.

He looks over to find Zayn sprawled out on his stomach next to him, sheet hunched up around his shoulders and tucked under his chin as if to keep the warmth trapped against him. He looks so young like this, Liam thinks, shadows and yellow light falling across Zayn's features, skin smooth and lips tugged up into the smallest, content smile.

Liam really doesn't want to disturb him but, when he manages to find his phone – fallen off the side of the bed – and sees they've been asleep for the better part of three hours, he figures it's really in Zayn's best interest. It's nearly seven thirty; if Zayn doesn't wake up now he'll end up waking at two in the morning unable to sleep. And the more awake Liam gets, the more he begins to notice the gnawing hunger in his stomach.

“Zayn,” Liam leans in to where Zayn’s face is half-obscured by bedding, nuzzling the patch of exposed cheek and swallowing a grin at the whinge of complaint that's muffled into the pillow when he tries to escape Liam's attentions. “Zayn, wake up. It's gone dinner time. You'll never sleep tonight if you don't wake up now.”

“'S m'plan all 'long,” Zayn slurs out, turning his head to look at Liam with still-closed eyes, half a sleazy smile plastered on his face.

There's no way Liam can keep from laughing this time, chuckling as he runs his fingers through Zayn’s sleep-mussed hair affectionately. It feels inexpressibly good to be able to do this, to not have to second guess a gesture that feels as natural as breathing.

"Smooth, Malik," and it doesn't seem a big deal at all if Liam rewards Zayn's sleepy attempt at a leer with a quick peck on the lips, "but I'm starving and I still need fuel for all those other things if they’re gonna be keeping us up all night."

Zayn ignores Liam’s wriggling eyebrows to groan in resignation and responds by tugging Liam back down onto the bed and wrappng his limbs around him; "Fine, but five more minutes first, 'kay?"

Liam was hardly about to refuse him, but he hums his agreement a moment later when Zayn seals their lips together for a proper kiss this time, lingering before dropping his head back onto Liam's chest with a sigh.

They lie there quietly for a minute or two, time dragging in their little sphere - the only hint of anything else existing being the distant clang of what sounds like pots and pans coming from the kitchen, and the occasional yelp which Liam identifies as Louis.

"I could get used to this," Zayn murmurs, and Liam can feel his heartbeat pick up where they're pressed skin to skin, as if Zayn's words were a confession he wasn't sure he should have brought to light.

Liam breathes in the scent of Zayn's hair, tickling the underside of his jaw, and mumbles an equally hesitant, "Me too."

Because it's one thing for this to feel right, for it to feel as though Zayn slotting against Liam's side is the answer to the question he didn't remember asking. But it's entirely another to _admit_ that, to risk shifting this from a one (two) time thing to something which feels like it could make or break him.

Zayn shifts so that he's lying on top of Liam, his chin digging lightly into Liam's sternum, and he's looking up at him with an expression that is still not entirely awake, but a lot more serious than it was a few minutes ago.

"I haven't...you're the first person in a long time I haven't wanted to kick out of my bed," Liam wonders if Zayn can feel his breath catching in his chest, "You're different, Li."

Liam, when he speaks, is just as serious, with just the same note of wonderstruck awe tinting his voice as Zayn's had.

"I've never really been someone to _not_ do the relationship thing, but," and it seems to be a thing with Zayn - that Liam only notices how true the words he tells Zayn are, when he says them - "I never really realised how much I wanted that with _you_ , until recently."

"Yeah?" Zayn's tone is still a little disbelieving, but there's a soft smile on his face which makes Liam think that, maybe, this could be something they're allowed after all.

"Mhmm," Liam nods, "I think it's been a long time coming, really, but it wasn't until Christmas break that I realised how much I _missed_ you."

Zayn does frown slightly at that. "But Niall said that you and Harry had come back early; I was here the whole time and I didn't see you once," he hides his face for a moment with the excuse of biting down on Liam's pec, "thought you didn't want to see me," he finishes gruffly.

"Zayn, I-" Liam's never known how to bring this up, and he hates keeping anything from Zayn, but it's one of the only things he's actively avoided since knowing him, especially since he realised how he felt for him. But if ever there was a time for honesty, it's now.

"That would never be the reason; I always want to see you," Liam admits, feeling the smile form on Zayn's lips against his chest, "but there _is_ something I feel like you should know."

"Mm?" Zayn says, lifting his head from where he'd pressed a kiss against the bite mark on Liam's skin.

"You see, my girlfriend, Danielle-"

There is a moment after Liam starts speaking, and hasn't yet stopped, where all the warmth seems to be sucked from the room.

And then, somehow, Liam is alone in the bed and Zayn is throwing on the first clothes he lays his hands on, and spitting barely concordant sentences at Liam through angry lips and raised voice.

"You need to _leave_."

Pants.

"Right now."

Sweats.

"I let you in here."

Flings a come-stained shirt at the wall where it drops, defeated, onto a pile of shoes.

"Thought you were _different_. "

Hands running through hair at a frantic pace.

"My _room_."

Shirt - clean this time.

"All this time."

Wallet.

" _Leave._ "

The bedroom door slams shut behind Zayn, as Liam still sits, half covered by blankets, confused as all hell as to how less than a minute ago, Zayn had him pressed into the mattress, exchanging soft whispers, and they'd progressed to Zayn almost screaming at him to leave, before he left himself - running from his own bedroom.

The thud of a second door jolts Liam's limbs into movement again though; he tugs on his pants from earlier, and is still struggling into his jeans, with his shirt and shoes tucked under one arm, when he reaches the kitchen to find Louis stood in the middle of the room, staring at the closed front door with a spatula raised in the air. On hearing Liam though, he spins on the tiles to face him, eyes widening at Liam's state of undress.

"What are you- wait," Louis' eyes narrow and his tone hardens as the fairly obvious answer strikes him, "What did you do to him?"

Liam tries to shrug, bewildered, but drops the rest of his clothes in the process; he scrambles to pick them back up as he speaks - mentally scrambling just as hard to figure out how they ended up here.

"I don't know! We...you know," Liam blushes, all of a sudden aware that he has no idea how long Louis' been home, "and then, I don't _know_ ; we were just _talking_ , and I was trying to tell him about how he was so different to what I was used to, that compared to Danielle he-"

"Hold up," Louis shuts him up with a hand motion and uncompromising tone, "who the fuck's Danielle?"

"She's the girl I used to-" Liam blanches, mind racing to rewind his conversation to the moment everything had flipped so dramatically, "Oh."

"What did you do, Liam?" Louis' face looks like thunder, and it's the only time Liam's ever seen him look like he would physically hurt someone. All because-

"I called her my girlfriend. I meant past tense, but- I don't think I called her my ex?" Liam's still confused though, "But I had barely said anything; surely he didn't get that furious over a slip of the tongue?"

Louis visibly slumps, and the anger seems to drain out of him, or so Liam hopes. He nudges Liam towards one of the cheap plastic stools which sit next to the kitchen bench, and sits down heavily in the one next to him.

"You two are so fucking stupid - you know that right?" Liam decides this isn't the time to defensively point out Louis as example B for that particular qualifier. "You've been all over each other since day bloody one, and you finally, _finally_ , sort your shit out and what do you do?"

Louis sighs, and rubs at his eyes; he looks so _tired_ , so lacking in the life that Liam had grown to think synonymous with the boy.

"Look. It's not your fault. Not really. Yeah, you probably could've worded yourself a bit better," Liam mumbles a _sorry_ and Louis gives him a half smile filled with sympathy, "but here's the thing. Zayn hasn't had a relationship in well over a year. He met this girl, Perrie, top girl I’d thought, in one of his art classes back in first year. They were together for, what, six  months? Over summer break at any rate. Zayn was proper in love with her. All sunshiney and rather sickening really. Except, we let Perrie stay in our new flat over the summer while she worked until her own place was sorted, right?  And Zayn decided he'd move in a few weeks early, thinking he could- anyway. Long story short. Perrie was cheating on him. Zayn turned up, found them fucking in his bed."

Shit.

Louis continues, "Zayn kinda shut down after that. He- he still functioned, but he wasn't the same guy. Wouldn't let people get too close. He was just, protective, you know?"

Liam really just wants to find Zayn and wrap him in a hug, because, even though the sheer idea of Liam cheating on Zayn with _anyone_ seems ridiculous, Zayn's been hurt before and he thinks that Liam has been the one to do it again.

"I need to find him," is what Liam says, finally pulling his shirt over his head and sliding on his shoes, "I can't- I'd never."

Louis grabs hold of his arm before he can move past him for the door.

"I know you wouldn't, Liam," he squeezes Liam's bicep gently, "and that's the thing. Zayn wouldn't let _anyone_ close, not even me for the longest time. And then you walk into your flat that day, Zayn in tow, and. He let you in, Li. Didn't matter whether you were sleeping together or not. Zayn hasn't let himself be happy in a long time, and with you he is."

"Thanks, Louis," and Liam's grateful Louis doesn't call him out on the thickness of his voice, "and for what it's worth? He's not the only one that deserves to be happy."

Louis looks like he's about to bite back with something sharp but he pulls back, sneer dropping to a sad smile at the last second.

"Yeah. Well."

And it's a conversation for another time, but Liam is determined that he won't be the only one getting a happy ending.

Because Liam's had a taste now, and he wants, _needs_ , that happy ending.

***

Liam has no fucking clue where to find Zayn.

In the middle of the city on a weeknight, where on earth would Zayn go, angry and alone?

He's half decided to try the pub, but in the end, it doesn't matter.

Liam rushes down the stairs of the building Louis and Zayn live in, and almost trips over Zayn as he shoves his way through the door.

He's sitting on the stoop, hunched over himself against the cold in only his short-sleeved shirt, and he doesn't look up when Liam pauses next to him with only a quiet, " _Zayn. I'm sorry."_

"I don't want to talk to you right now, Liam. I _can't_."

On a normal day, Liam would probably leave it at that, and wait for the anger to dissipate, wait until things had cooled and were maybe a little more solid and harder to shift, but easier to deal with on the whole. But Liam's seen what happens sometimes now, if you leave it too long; how sometimes it _doesn't_ fix itself, and Liam can't risk that. He also can't stand the thought of Zayn hurting one second longer than he has to.

"I didn't know where to look to find you."

"Probably because I had no idea where I was going," Zayn mutters, sullen and cross and face tucked as far into his opposite shoulder as possible to avoid Liam's gaze; Liam barely manages to catch the final words, "also I forgot my shoes."

He glances down and, indeed, Zayn's bare toes look almost purple in the light cast from the streetlights in front and the windows behind them. Liam wants to laugh, to rub some warmth into them with his fingers, to take Zayn back inside and tuck him under a fleece blanket and lay his head in Liam's lap. But he can't do any of those things. Not yet.

"I didn't cheat, Zayn."

Zayn turns his head enough that Liam can see his profile, can see the grimace and a wet streak that catches the light.

"I'd never, Zayn. Fuck I-" Liam chokes out a strangled laugh, "I couldn't."

Zayn flicks his eyes towards Liam, but he can't sustain it; so Liam lets him listen instead.

"Danielle," Zayn flinches, but doesn't say anything, "Dani's my ex. We dated for almost four years; ever since we were sixteen. I didn't mean to call her my girlfriend, back there; we haven't been together for as long as I've known you. I could work it out, you know, how long since she left me. But not because I miss her, or because it's a day filled with regret and loss," Liam can hear the smile in his own voice, wonders what his face looks like to Zayn, who's finally watching, if not yet meeting his eye. "But because that's the day I met you."

And Zayn's face startles, his eyes wide with shock when he looks directly at Liam, as if trying to find the lie.

"We'd been drifting apart for ages, and living in different cities for three quarters of the year didn't help. But I wasn't expecting it when she told me it was over, telling me I'd changed and that she didn't see the person she loved anymore. And I was so _mad_ , because I'd spent so long trying to be the person that she wanted, that my family wanted, that everyone expected me to be - that to be told that was worse than the actual break up. So I went to Ed's party, deciding that if even _that_ wasn't enough, then maybe I'd try being myself for once. Or at least the someone I thought I wanted to be. And _you_ were there. Laughing with Louis on the fire escape and so _beautiful_. You looked like you had it all figured out. When you talked to me later on I almost backed out; you seemed too perfect, almost dangerous- shut up," Liam nudges Zayn with his shoulder when Zayn all out laughs at the descriptor of _dangerous_ \- much like the bark of laughter from that very first night – acting annoyed at the interruption, although, really, he's just pleased to see the hurt leave Zayn's eyes.

"But that's the thing isn't it? I wasn't exactly myself that night, drunk and too ready to rebel. Not to say I didn't want it," Liam hastily amends, seeing the concern filter through Zayn's face, "I'm just never going to be the guy who can handle one night stands. But you weren't really the person I thought you were, the person you pretended to be for me that night, either. You laugh when I say you looked dangerous, but that's because I've seen you in the daytime. With your hair soft and unstyled; with your stupid hipster glasses squinting at your laptop; curled up on the couch and kicking at Louis when he tries tickling the soles of your feet; getting emotional over Jason Todd's death in a comic book; the look of wonder on your face when you see a piece of art that speaks to you in a way no one else understands. That I know I'll never truly understand."

Liam pauses a moment, having to steady himself, gather his thoughts for a second because when Zayn looks at Liam like _he's_ the piece of art, he gets a little breathless.

"I'm a person who likes getting emotionally invested, whether it be in a relationship or an animated children's film or the two people in front of me in the coffee shop line. I wear socks to bed in the winter because I'm afraid of leaving the electric blanket on and burning myself alive. I still love commerce even if I’m not the _best_ at it. I'm terrified of failing. There's a lot about me I still haven't quite figured out, but a lot of what I _have_ realised is because of you. Especially this one thing. It's a big one. And I didn't realise it for a long time, tried to deny it, repress it - even tried it one last time with Danielle in the hope that it would go away. But none of it - particularly the last one - made me happy. In fact, it almost felt like I _was_ cheating. Because in the end, what makes me happy, is-"

Liam doesn't get the chance to finish his sentence, because it's cut off rather abruptly by cold, chapped lips pressing feverishly against his own.

It's been less than an hour since Liam's been kissed by Zayn, but it feels like months. And, this time, there's no holds barred; everything is out in the open, both of them stripped bare, no more secrets.

"-you," Liam whispers in the space between their skin when they finally part for air.

And Zayn's smile puts all the city lights to shame.

***

**Author's Note:**

> just louis' epilogue to go!!
> 
> who picked zayn and liam's baggage? was the smut horrific and you want a petition to have me banned? was there anything i forgot to clarify? let me know in the comments
> 
> <33


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